Chapter 15
Thursday Evening – After High Tide
The weather slowly continued to improve. The wind slackened and the rain stopped. The clouds cleared and a bright moon was shining. High Tide in London came at 10 minutes to 5, after the sun had finally disappeared. Ordinarily, this would cause little comment, but on that Thursday, it was of considerable importance. If it was possible to observe the river from above, the familiar snakelike bends of the Thames had disappeared and been replaced by an enormous wedge of water, rather like a massive slice of pizza, extending from Brentford in the west to the open sea beyond Southend.
The land on either side of the river rises and falls in a series of low hills and valleys, in some places allowing and in others denying the inundation of flood water in equal measure. In central London, the water covered all of Lambeth, Bermondsey and Deptford as far south as Camberwell, but there was very little flooding on the north bank at Holborn and the city. To the west, however, the reverse was the case in that Chiswick, Hammersmith and Fulham were under water, but on the south bank much of Richmond Park, Mortlake and Putney were left unscathed. The floating containers created mayhem in Barnes and Battersea, but left Kensington and Chelsea untouched. Opposite Waterloo Station, Westminster and Pimlico were under water, causing enormous damage and disruption to Government, the Civil Defence and the communications networks.
Further east, beyond the city, it was the same story. As the river approached the sea, the wedge of sea water widened. Poplar and the Isle of Dogs, as well as the City of London Airport and Barking sewage works were flooded, but because it lies on a small hill, Woolwich was broadly untouched. Thamesmead and all the industrial lands eastwards to Erith were completely overwhelmed, as were Tilbury, Corringham and Canvey Island on the north bank. The Isle of Grain was totally under water.
The damage to the river’s infrastructure, the piers, the wharfs and the gantries lining both banks, was devastating. The empty containers swept from the container ports by the gigantic wave as it travelled up river, caused most of the destruction.
All power throughout the capital was severed and the city was in darkness. The only light came from vehicles gridlocked on all roads leading away from the river and that massive wedge of water. Because all the traffic lights had failed and there was no street lighting, most drivers were trying to avoid the main roads. One by one, a number of buildings were coming back to life as their emergency generators kicked into action.
Across the rest of the country, the confusion and interruption to ordinary life was less accentuated with the levels of disruption differing from area to area. Because of the severe snowfall and gales in Scotland and the North of England, every Local Authority north of Sheffield remained at a complete standstill, while they grappled with the enormity of the task of helping their areas return to some semblance of normality. All attempts were severely curtailed by regular disruptions to the power supply but, with weather conditions swiftly improving, engineers were already surveying the damage and working to restore the necessary connections.
The change in the weather was having a surprising and unusual effect in the Pennines. The two weather fronts, which initiated the unique sea surge up the river Thames, abutted each other in a line across England and Wales from Anglesey in the west to Kings Lynn in the east. To the north, the weather was cold with northerly gales and snow. To the south the wind was warmer, bringing prolonged rain. With both depressions now drifting to the east and filling, this dividing line began to move slowly northwards, raising temperatures and melting the snow much more quickly than was normal.
In West Yorkshire, the snow was deep and lying on land which was already saturated. The rivers were already in spate from the unrelenting autumnal rains. The rising temperature was very quickly melting the snow, where it was lying in deep drifts on the hills. The meltwater was now flowing off the hillsides down into the valleys. This was to become a considerable problem.
In Huddersfield, Cllr Christine Sykes was watching the television. Suddenly, yet another power cut plunged not only her house but also the whole of Huddersfield, into darkness. The news from London was reporting some sort of a major incident. Her husband, Robert, was cooking in their small galley kitchen. Fortunately, the cooker was powered by gas and the saucepan of vegetable ragout remained gently simmering. He reached for the matches to light the two candles that he had found earlier that afternoon, during a previous power cut.
“Not again,” he grumbled. “This is really irritating!”
“I know,” Christine replied. “It’s cut off the News.”
“Anything interesting.”
“I’m not really sure. They were saying something about some flooding in London, but it all disappeared before there was any detail.”
“Well, I’ve just bagged up the potato peelings so I’ll pop them in the bin.”
Robert opened the kitchen door. In front of him, his back garden was at least a foot deep in snow. He went through the door and down a couple of steps. Carefully he made his way to the dustbin, leaving a trail of deep footprints in the drifts. He knocked a foot of snow off the grey wheelie bin lid and placed the sealed waste bag inside, before making his way back to the kitchen.
“It’s quite strange out there.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s over a foot of snow in the back garden, but the air feels really warm. I can’t see this snow lasting too long.”
“What do you mean?” Christine repeated. “What’s really warm? How long?”
“If it stays as warm as it is now, it could all be gone by tomorrow morning.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s far too deep.” Christine sat back and thought a bit more. “Mind you, if it does melt as fast as that, the water coming off the hills will cause some difficulties. There could even be some local flooding. I wonder what effect it’ll have on Butterley Dam.”
“I was wondering when you were going to mention that.”
Back in 2012, Yorkshire Water plc had announced its intention to remove and replace an iconic Victorian stone spillway with a concrete overflow. The objections of the local people in Marsden had fallen on deaf ears and, finally, the popular tourist attraction had been dismantled and removed. The new concrete spillway looked like a hideous scar on the hillside and, despite promises to the contrary, it appeared that none of the original stone had been incorporated in the new structure. The melting snow would be a severe test. The water level in the reservoir was already full, so a sudden inflow of melt water could really test the dam wall and the new spillway might come under severe pressure.
“Have you got any signal on your phone?” Christine asked.
“Dead as a doornail,” he replied.
“I wonder if the roads are clear to get to Marsden.”
“You’re not thinking of going out, are you?”
“I need to make sure that people know that the dam will be under severe pressure throughout the night. Are you really sure about the warmth of the air outside?”
Robert shrugged. “Go and see for yourself.”
Christine got up and went to the door. Once outside, just like King Wenceslas’ page, she stood in the footsteps made by her husband only five minutes earlier. She immediately realised that he wasn’t exaggerating. The air was warm! She looked up at the weight of snow on the roofs of the houses that stretched down on either side of her small back garden. She was aware that a number of her neighbours had not taken advantage of previous Government initiatives to get their homes insulated. As she was idly considering their indifference, she saw a crack appear in the snow on a roof to her right. And, suddenly, as she watched spellbound, the snow slid gracefully down the roof and over the gutter, before landing with a loud ‘plop’ on the ground.
She now realised that the compacted snow below the soles of her shoes was actually quite slushy. She turned to go back into the house, as she heard snow sliding down another roof. Robert’s right, she thought. This thaw will be quick a
nd that could well spell disaster.
“We need to get up to Marsden,” she announced as she re-entered the kitchen, kicking snow off her shoes.
“Thought you’d say that, so I nipped out to the car and checked the road. A few other cars have gone past and the road is driveable, with care. Do you want to try to get up to Marsden now?”
“Yes. I’ll get my coat.”
After turning off the gas, Robert locked the back door, put on his coat and opened the front door for his wife.
“This won’t be easy,” he muttered, half to himself, as he opened the car door for Christine. After she was settled, he got behind the wheel and started the engine. Checking that they both had put on their seatbelts, he gently eased out of his parking space into the tracks already left by other vehicles. Although the snow was lying about a foot deep, he was surprised that the tracks were easily drivable.
They turned onto the main Manchester Road which was already ploughed and clear. The road surface gleamed wetly at them but, surprisingly, it was completely clear of snow and compacted ice. As they drove along, Christine glanced at the roofs of the terraced cottages on either side of the road. They were heavy with snow, except where the warmth from inside the houses had caused the snow to slip. The only lights that they could see were from their car’s headlights. They passed the chicane at Slaithwaite without seeing any other traffic at all. All of a sudden, they were in the country, passing West End Garage.
“Where exactly do you want to go?” Robert asked. “Remember, there will be no power and people might not welcome the idea of being visited at this time.”
“You’re right about that,” she replied. "But this is an emergency and we need to spread the word one way or another. I suggest we try to get to Mary, Stephen and George. They all live on main roads. Mary has three teenage children, who can walk to their neighbours. Stephen is the local scout leader and can organise his troop. George, of course, is the local doctor.
"I’m going to ask Mary and Stephen to alert the people living in the town centre and alongside the river that comes from the dam. They’ll have to do it door to door, for obvious reasons. Stephen will also have to alert the people on the new estates alongside the upper river Colne and the old folk in Wessen Court. They’ll all have to be persuaded to go upstairs to the first floor. When we’ve contacted George, he’ll be able to open the medical centre and be ready for people who won’t be able to get transport to hospital.
“If the dam overflows,” she continued, “The flow of water down that small stream, will cause havoc. It’ll rip out all the trees and flood out at the bottom of Mount Road, before joining the river Colne in the centre of Marsden. The flood water will then flow down to Slaithwaite. It’ll be joined by all the other streams which’ll also be swollen from the melting snow. We’ll have to knock on some doors there as well.”
“You’ve really been thinking about this, haven’t you?”
“Ever since Yorkshire Water started on their barmpot scheme. Do you remember their first public presentation? It was so awful that it made me believe that whatever they wanted to do, it wouldn’t really stop or reduce the effects of a real disaster. If the spillway is able to cope with the increased levels of water, it won’t reduce the probability of a flood in the town centre, because that amount of flood water will still be there. If the spillway can’t cope and the overflow starts to erode the dam itself, it may give way and that really will be a disaster.”
“What happens after Slaithwaite?” Robert asked.
“There’s no real problem until the flood water reaches Milnsbridge. Mind you, there will be local structural damage, especially to the businesses alongside the river and the canal. But in Milnsbridge, the bridge could well be damaged as well as all the housing down George Street. When the flood water gets to Longroyd Bridge, it could damage that bridge as well and that’ll make the main road impassable. So we must hope that it won’t be as bad as that and that we can alert as many people as possible.”
Robert stopped the car outside Mary’s house.
Sebastian returned from Soho at about four o’clock. Before Andy dropped him off, he asked whether Sebastian had yet had an opportunity to consider using the portfolio he was building up for Alice.
“Not so far, Andy,” Sebastian replied. “But it’s rather strange, because I know the girl.”
“What do you mean?” Andy feigned complete ignorance.
“The girl. Is she called Alice? Well, she works for my banker.”
“Of course she does!” Andy exclaimed. “I thought I knew her from somewhere, but I just couldn’t place her.”
“Don’t be so bloody disingenuous,” Sebastian remarked. “I don’t doubt that when you first met her, she was a complete stranger, but she has stayed here twice and each time arrived in your cab. So, I know that you know perfectly well who she is.” Somewhat taken aback, Andy just nodded. “You’ll find, if you keep working for me, that I know a lot of people and I have excellent connections. It’s extremely difficult to pull the wool over my eyes.”
Quietly, Andy replied, “OK, Mr Fortescue Brown. I’ll never make that mistake again.”
“You’ll also find that it’s far better to volunteer information rather than wondering whether I might find it out later from another source. Be under no illusion, I will find out and you will rue the day if I learn that you have been hiding information from me.”
Sebastian got out of the cab. All the windows were dark, but he could see the glimmer of torches and candles. He turned back and spoke through the passenger window.
“Andy, when I have information that can enhance Alice’s career, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that.”
Andy drove away, back onto the Cromwell Road. The traffic was thick with slow moving traffic. He turned into a side road, trying to make his way southwards towards the river. With no street lights and no traffic lights, he thought it might be more sensible to use back doubles wherever possible.
As he drove through South Kensington, he heard the sound of breaking glass and saw a couple of young men walking down the street, carrying a big television screen between them. They scurried away into the darkness of a side street. In the dark, it was impossible to identify them.
Just short of Sloane Square, a man walked into the road in front of the cab, holding up his hand to stop him.
“What’s the problem, mate?” Andy asked, leaning out of his cab window.
“You can’t get through here. The river’s flooded and everything’s under water further down there.”
“Are you trying to get somewhere?” Andy asked.
“Well, I do need to get back to the city. My apartment’s in the Barbican.”
“Hop in. I’ll take you. All the roads are pretty grim with traffic, so it’ll take some time. I’ve already been into the West End this afternoon and that was a nightmare, but there’s no flooding there.”
“No, there won’t be! It’s too high up. Everyone thinks London’s flat, but it’s not. On both sides of the river, it’s just a series of low hills all the way from the sea to Richmond.”
“Don’t I know it? Some of those inclines can be real bottlenecks.”
Andy drove along Eaton Square and turned up Grosvenor Place. The traffic conditions forced him to go round Hyde Park Corner and into Piccadilly. Slowly, he worked his way past Trafalgar Square, down Duncannon Street and onto the Strand. Even though the traffic was nose to tail, it was moving as, one by one, drivers turned northwards up any convenient side street to get away from the river and the congestion.
At a snail’s pace, Andy drove along the Strand past Aldwych and up Fetter Lane to Holborn Circus and the Barbican, where he dropped his fare.
He checked the time and as it was now six o’clock and because he had no other fares to consider, Andy decided to go back home, with the idea of crossing the river over Waterloo Bridge.
Waterloo Station was a mess. After rescuing the woman and her baby, Pamela
and Milton went back to the main concourse and started to organise the people into teams to help with the injured and to deal with the dead. Most people were simply milling about aimlessly, as though they were waiting for an announcement or for someone to take charge. In the darkness of the concourse, it was difficult to see how best they might assist the aimless crowds. They decided to split up and Milton left Pamela talking to a number of passengers who were already discussing what they could do.
Milton now walked down to the end of each platform, where he noted a number of bodies floating in the water. At the same time, Pamela got hold of a couple of old oil drums and, with those few volunteers, she was able to start fires in them both, using some wood that she found in a shop that was being renovated. As soon as the fires were burning, she helped the woman with her baby to sit next to it, to dry out her clothes. The ladies in one of the cafes, brought across some biscuits.
“What we really need is blankets or warm clothes,” Pamela commented.
“I’ll knock on the doors of some of the shops to see if they’ve got anything,” one of the ladies replied.
“It might be an idea to get hold of the pharmacist from the chemist’s shop as well.” The lady disappeared into the gloom of the station.
When Milton returned, in the gloom, he looked over the frightened crowd. Rather than calling for volunteers, he asked a number of them to organise themselves into two teams. He explained that they were to try and fish the bodies out of the water. The first team reluctantly started to do so, laying out the bodies on the platforms. The water was, at last, beginning to recede and Milton knew that they must do this unpleasant task now, before the bodies simply drifted away.
His second team comprised just one woman and two men. He took them down the stairs to check the state of the roads around the station. Not surprisingly, the whole station complex was completely surrounded by water. Basically they were marooned, although the water seemed to be quite shallow between the station and the BFI Max. In the moonlight, they could see a number of bodies gently drifting in the water. As the water had already receded a little, Milton decided to wade out and retrieve them. As in the station, they laid the bodies where the authorities would easily be able to retrieve them. Milton noticed that the water was beginning to drain away quite quickly. With his helpers, they all returned to the station concourse, where they found that the first team had started to try to get down the steps into the underground.
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